


Potty's Takeover

by Natty11



Category: Layton Brothers: Mystery Room, Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 08:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20373412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natty11/pseuds/Natty11
Summary: Incited by a prank gone too far, Lucy struggles with accepting Potty's prevalence in Prof's personage.





	Potty's Takeover

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the title. And the alliteration in the summary, I really couldn't help myself.
> 
> When this game first came out in 2013, I was absolutely obsessed. There was very little fan work (there was one particular side by side of Hershel & Al that I loved so much I made it my screensaver for the next six years) and no fanfic at all. I recently replayed the game (doing an Ace Attorney + Layton series playthrough and loving it) and fell in love all over again. This is just my homage to my OTP.

After Justin’s incarceration, Lucy had begun to see Prof’s personality change more and more. Or, rather, _Alfendi_’s personality. After all, Potty was the real deal, according to Hilda. Whenever they worked tough cases, Potty flipped on automatically, burning through investigations with savage intent, snapping viciously at her, and passing out on the sofa in the Mystery Room. The outbursts happened so often that Placid had stopped apologizing for his rudeness as Potty, merely using his time to organize his files and make sure everything had been conducted fairly—a job Lucy was slowly learning how to perform.

“What’s it like, ‘avin’ two personalities?” Lucy murmured to herself, picking up the last of the papers Potty had strewn across the floor the previous night.

“Exhausting,” Placid groaned from the sofa, his gangly limbs flung out across the surface.

Lucy clucked her tongue, tossing a notebook towards him. “Kettle’s on. I wrote down’t case related bits.”

She furtively glanced over as he found his way to the most recent entry. “Lucy, there’s only one sentence. What was I—_he_—doing last night?” He stood up, his long frame sloping over her, and he rubbed a red smeared hand over his unshaven face. “I hope I wasn’t—is that _blood_? Lucy, what _happened_?”

Lucy smirked and turned her attention to the kettle. “Sugar, Prof?”

“I take it by your reaction that it’s nothing criminal.”

In response, she raised an eyebrow and handed him a cup, bringing her own to her lips. When he finished his cup, she quickly refilled her cup to keep herself from laughing.

“Lucy.” Alfendi tilted the cup towards her, its insides showing off the tea leaves, scattered to form a skull. He ran his finger along the inside. “You glued these on, didn’t you? What kind of game are you up to? Did _he _put you put to this?”

Lucy shrugged, a serious expression settling over her face. “’Haps I wanted my revenge for all’t chaos I’ve been put through.”

Alfendi set the cup aside and sat down at his desk, his weariness leaving no room for humour. “I’d appreciate it if you limited the practical jokes. We’ve got another case to crack into.”

Lucy flopped onto the sofa and heaved a sigh. “We’ve got nowt. Potty’s too efficient. You keep throwing cases ‘is way and ‘e eats them up an’ spits them right out.” She pulled her hat over her eyes. If Placid wanted cases, he could find them himself.

She must have dozed off for a few moments, because a guttural scream shocked her awake. Grinning, she bounced off the sofa and—right into Alfendi, his body still shaking from fear. “Oh, right, I forgot’t mention the body in’t closet.”

“For once, I have to congratulate you on the surprise. Well done, Baker.”

Lucy’s grin faded, realizing the shaking was due to excitement, not fear.

“What, disappointed? That’s how I felt about your first two pranks.” Potty stepped forward, his usual cocky expression worming its way onto his face. He strode over to the window, then back to Lucy, his typical high-energy personality making itself known.

“I usually get Placid for’t day.” She refastened her hat, walking over to the closet to remove the fake body.

“Oh, is this a custody case?” Alfendi followed her, backing her into the closet until her jacket brushed against the unvarnished wood. “It’s nice to have control of my body again. That insipid wimp works to the bone during the day, so I’m left with nothing but an exhausted shell. Rather unfair, don’t you think?”

Lucy lifted her chin, focussing on making eye contact with Alfendi. Between making her insides squirm and her heart beat faster, this was a difficult task to accomplish. “’aven’t you noticed that ‘e’s been tryin’ to find more and more murder cases? ‘e’s givin’ you a reason’t come out. ‘e’s givin’ you purpose.”

“Purpose? Who needs purpose!” Alfendi laughed, stepping further into the closet. The newspapers bulging from his coat pressed against Lucy, and she glanced down at them, grateful to have something else to look at. “He needs to give me murders to solve because he knows if I don’t, I’ll make my own.” With a swift hand, he plucked Lucy’s hat and swept his own hair into it. “You like to look at these newspapers? Keep them.” He flung the papers to the ground and stepped out of the closet, quickly barricading it behind him.

“Potty! Let me outta ‘ere this instant! Potty!” She banged against the closet door, but drew away when splinters sank into her fists. “You chuffin’ bellend!”

“My, the lady has mouth! Don’t worry, I’ll put that to good use later.” His voice was muffled, but the words were enough to make her recoil into the closet. She heard a door slam, and then the room fell quiet once more.

“Think, Baker, think!” This wasn’t the first time Lucy had been trapped in a difficult situation, and with Alfendi as her partner, she doubted it would be her last. The fake body had gotten severed in the tussle, its torso making its way into captivity with her.

She surveyed her surroundings. Door: barred. Ceiling: closed off. Vents: none. There were no clever exits or trap doors. Just the door in front of her. Lucy removed her jacket, tying up the arms on the racks juxtaposed to the door, forming a cushion to protect her from splinters. She rammed herself against the door. The door shuddered, but refused to move. She kept going until she accepted the futility of the effort. Her figure was tiny and dislocating her shoulder wouldn’t help. Unless she could dislocate another shoulder?

The mannequin stared up at her, its deceptively painted on eyes pleading against this idea. “Sorry, mate.” She heaved it over her shoulder and smashed it like a sledgehammer against the door. The head popped off and bounced against her forehead. Lucy’s shriek of surprise bubbled into laughter, and she sank to the floor.

How much more of Potty’s nonsense would she take? The Mystery Room was never her final destination. Her two year probationary period was ending this week, and she would be able to join the criminal investigation department as she had always dreamed. Working with a large team, uncovering gang related crimes and arresting London’s largest criminals. Eventually, she would work her way up to Chief Superintendent, and she would be able to proudly show her rank through her epaulette rather than a badge bouncing at her hip. She would help the justice system, lower crime rates, and _not get locked in the closet_. She had enough of cleaning up coffee fueled hysterics. She was finished with appeasing a man obsessed with murder. “Why do I ‘ave to deal with this nonsense while ‘e gets the credit? We’re not a team, are we? We’re bloody cat and mouse.” She wiped her tears away angrily, standing up again. “And you were a naff idea.” She took out her aggressions on the sixteen pound prank, thrashing wildly against the door, the mannequin ricocheting off the adjacent racks until it pulled one loose, slamming into her and delving a thick gash in her arm.

Sucking in air through her teeth, Lucy calmed herself and examined the damage. The closet door was stubborn, but the mannequin had been pulled apart, its silicon skin peeled away from the face. “Gross.” Ashamed at the damaged, Lucy felt the holes torn into the walls, and lifted the rack up, trying to fit it back into place. It caught against the door, and as she tried to free it, the door let out a resounding creak.

Bells going off in her head, Lucy inserted the silicone face between the rack and the door for grip, then pushed her weight against the rack. Acting as a lever, she felt the rack slowly make way, crushing the doorframe’s wood as she moved forward. With a sudden jolt, the rack cleared the door and whatever was blocking it fell forward, unlocking her way to freedom. Tossing aside the rack, she sprinted out into the hall.

“Commissioner! Commissioner Barton!” She flung herself into his office, immediately colouring when she spotted him on the phone.

“You’re looking for Alfendi? He was just in. Asked for a new case. I pointed him towards Hilda Pertinax.” He placed his hand over the mouthpiece.

“Interpol? Must be a fairly big criminal, eh?” Lucy tried to calm herself, covering her cut in a fluster, running her hand through her hair, self-conscious without her hat.

The commissioner smiled, his moustached corners flicking upwards. “I must admit, I didn’t send him towards her because she has a case. She was always good at calming him, back in the old days.”

From what Lucy saw, they got each other fired up. There were more sparks between them than glass in a hot fire. Lucy dawdled, unsure what else to say.

“She’s staying at Elton and Main right now, the red building. If you hurry, you could catch up.”

Lucy murmured a thank you and backed out of the door. She hesitated after rounding the doorframe, considering handing in her transfer request right at that moment.

“Everything we did to make him more like you failed, Hershel. Maybe it’s for the best. What we did… it wasn’t right. I’m happier seeing him like this.”

Lucy gulped away any trepidation and strode to the bus stop. Alfendi needed someone he could trust.

The red building was easy to find, but she realized she had no way to determine the floor to go to, nor the entry point. Expecting to be greeted by a doorman, she was instead greeted by an unlocked door. She ran down the halls of the first floor, listening intently for any sounds of arguing. Or passion. _Focus, Baker_. The second floor was to no avail, nor the third. By the fourth floor, she had grown tired, and slouched against the wall, needing a break. She considered knocking at a door and asking for someone of Hilda’s description, but it wouldn’t be good to draw attention to an Interpol agent. When she reached the roof, Lucy gave up hope of finding either of them. She walked as close to the edge as she dared, staring into the heart of London. Grimy, busy, smoke and the smells of Indian cuisine wafting encouragingly into her nose. A plate of curry would cheer her up.

Cheer finally running through her body, she nodded to herself, her eyes casting down to catch Alfendi and Hilda locked in an embrace on a balcony. She bit her lip. Third floor. West end. Tearing her eyes away from the scene, she raced down to the third floor, pushing hard against the ground in order to push out any thoughts of her own.

“Open up!” She pounded against the door, her fist smarting from the splinter still embedded in her skin. She tried the doorknob, and finding it unlocked, swung it open and came face to face with Hilda.

“What—?”

Lucy pushed past her and over to Al. He watched her cooly, his coat thrown casually on one of Hilda’s chairs. Lucy extended her hand. “Hat. Now.”

“You’ll have to get it from me.”

Any hope that Placid had returned was squashed. Lucy pushed him onto the balcony and closed the door, away from Hilda’s ears. “Makin’ good use of your body, I see. Glad you have it back. At least Placid tried to solve crimes.”

Unphased, Al’s eyes traced their way to her arm. “More fake blood? This isn’t primary school. I’m used to seeing the real thing. I _want _to see the real thing.”

“Then _look_.” She thrust her arm at him. Dubious, he traced a long, thin finger along the cut, observing her as she winced. He licked his finger, to Lucy’s disgust. “That’s naff, Prof!”

“How did you escape from the closet? Tell me everything, so I can make it more secure next time.”

Lucy pushed her hair behind her ears to keep the wind from spinning it into her face. “Is that all you ‘ave to say?”

“I could talk for hours about the surgical methods to cleanly remove a human spleen.”

Lucy jumped and snatched at her hat, but Alfendi jerked backwards, his back banging into the bannister and the hat tumbling off his head and into the wind. Lucy tried desperately to grab at it, swinging one leg over the bannister to try and grab it as it sailed away from them.

“Don’t be a fool! It’s just a hat!” Al wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back. She squirmed free, kicking his shin in the process.

“Don’t touch me! This is it! This is’t last straw!” Lucy felt her throat closing up, her eyes threatening tears. Her arm was warm from the reopened cut, blood dripping onto her shirt. Steeling her nerves and steadying her shaky voice, Lucy took a step away from Alfendi. “I can see that Potty is who you really are. This week is my last. Am transferrin’ to the criminal affairs unit, to work with normal people. You can find someone else’t clean up after you, listen to your spite, and be locked in closets. Am done. The side of you I fell for is gone.”

A glimmer of hurt passed over his face. Whether it was Placid or Potty’s face, she couldn’t tell. Before he could even open his mouth to mock her, she stormed out. Hilda, sitting on a lounge chair, bolted upright. “Lucy, I think you—”

“Can’t imagine why you’d prefer that gaffer to the nice version of him, but take him. Take all of him, just like you were doin’ earlier.” She exited in a blind rage, tears already slipping down her cheeks. Hilda didn’t deserve her anger. But she didn’t deserve Placid, either.

Lucy waited by her phone for the next day, anxiously awaiting a call from Placid. An apology, him begging her to come back to work with him, _anything_. On the second day, she chided herself for hoping. Potty had taken over. For good. And he wasn’t relinquishing.

She made good on her self-promised outing for curry, indulging in spices that gave her a different reason to cry. She had phoned the commissioner and calmly discussed her future goals, and he promised to try and arrange a different working circumstance, but it would require a few weeks before the paperwork went through.

“Do I ‘ave to go back’t work?” she had asked, her voice quavering. She didn’t want to shirk her duties, but if the Prof didn’t call her in, there was no cause for her to be in the Mystery Room.

“Do whatever you have to do, Constable Baker. I remember being a constable, too. Sometimes I felt like I would never get set on the right direction.”

On the third day, she received a knock on the door. Her heart high, she opened it and received a package from the mailman, trying not to show him her immense disappointment.

When she unwrapped the package, she couldn’t help but squeak in excitement. It was her hat. Not just a cap—it had all the same wear, all the old stains, although the new ones had been cleaned. There was a short note.

_I’ll come by at six. It’s your prerogative to let me in or not. Thought you’d like this back. _

_ -Alfendi (Potty)_

There was no apology, but there was meaning. How long had he searched to find her hat? Why did he purposely sign it as _Potty_ when he disliked that term? She placed the hat on her head once more, sighing happily at the familiar weight.

She passed the time idly, devouring a sandwich from the local deli, tidying up, and filling out her transfer application form details. At five, the doorbell rang.

“Prof. I wasn’t expecting you for another hour.” She opened the door wider, inviting him in. He was wearing his lab coat once again, pockets full of newspapers, his hair neatly tied back.

“I couldn’t wait. Things have been a disaster without you. Can we talk?”

“Isn’t that what we’re doin’ now?” She led him to the kitchen table, discreetly turning the application forms facedown. “Am I talkin’ to Placid or Potty?”

“You’re talking to Alfendi, your partner. Things have been so hectic lately. These personalities of mine—the meek and the bold—they’re not going to leave. But I think I can learn from both sides.”

“Placid isn’t meek. Er, ‘e’s a bit meek. But ‘e’s kind, thoughtful, and encouragin’. Those traits aren’t weak at all.”

“No? You think his little dioramas are sufficient? Are they efficient, in terms of money and labour? Is that how you see this, ‘Placid’ is good and ‘Potty’ is bad?”

“Placid wouldn’t ‘ave locked me in a closet.”

Alfendi frowned, twisting in his chair to face Lucy, his knees brushing against her leg as he swivelled. “Will it be enough if I apologize?”

“It’s a start.”

He closed his eyes for a few moments, and a tranquility fell over his face. Placid. “Lucy, I’m sorry for what I did. After your jokes I thought it would be harmless fun. I was wrong. And you were hurt by what I did—for that, I can’t apologize enough.” He reached out towards her, hesitated, then rolled up her sleeve. A thin pink line traced her arm, her skin self-suturing the wound. His fingertips were cold, but the gaze towards her was warm.

She jerked her arm away from him. “I don’t want Placid to apologize. He’s done nowt wrong. I want Potty to apologize.”

The warmness drained away. “Don’t compare him to me. My apology was my own.”

“But I thought—"

“Maybe it’s useful having another personality. Is that so bad? I can learn things. Learn what made you fall for him.”

Lucy turned pink and glanced away. “You and him are different.”

“Oh, come now, my dear Lucy. We share the same face. Did you fall for Placid, or did you fall for Alfendi?”

Lucy had battled with that question over months of sleep-deprived case sessions, teasing interlaced with suggestion, and daydreams somersaulting with nighttime fantasies. She knew the answer. But he didn’t deserve to hear it yet. “Did you really come’t talk? I thought we were goin’ to discuss my employment with you.”

“What? Don’t tell me you actually want to leave. I know nothing gets your blood pumping more than working alongside me, scrutinizing clues, solving crimes! You won’t get the same experience with the local force. You’ll get nothing but paperwork.”

It was true. Lucy, although not expecting to, loved the thrill of getting her hands dirty, and—to be honest with herself, she loved the danger, too. Placid preferred the dioramas. But getting to actually go to a crime scene with Potty, get into the criminal’s mind—it was important to solving a case. “But you take it too far,” she argued, “you take a sick delight in murder. You enjoy a perverse pleasure from’t most gruesome crimes. You lack’t empathy required for this job.”

“It’s all an important tactic! Getting under the criminal’s skin, making them reflect on the horrors of their crime—they need to repent for what they’ve done. Don’t get me wrong, Baker. I may say one thing, but I know this for a fact: once a murderer, always a murderer. I have no intent on going down that route myself.”

“I can’t believe you ‘ave’t promise me you’re not going to murder anyone,” Lucy muttered. “An’ what’s with Hilda? You two muckin’ about while there’s work to be done!”

“Do I detect jealousy, my dear Lucy? Commissioner Barton informed me there was a case she was working on.”

“Aye? I don’t recall needing to _hug _you whilst workin’ on any case together!”

“Is that what this is all about? Hilda and I… have known each other for a long time. Unlike you, she was grateful to see this old side of me.” He tilted his head, a lock of maroon hair dangling to the side, tempting her to tug on it.

Lucy sighed, a headache beginning to pound against her forehead. “’ow do I know you won’t do something to hurt me?”

“Trust me!”

“I can’t!” Lucy stood up, anger overtaking her. Alfendi matched her pose, rising to his full height. “I can’t, Prof. Not this version of you.” She excused herself and went to the washroom to fetch some pain meds. When she returned, she found Alfendi examining the papers. He turned to her, his face betraying no emotion.

“I didn’t realize how limiting this position was for you. It’s true, you will want to move up the ranks and manage your own team. I should have realized this. I was selfish. Maybe it really is time for us to move on.”

“Prof…” They stood across the table from each other, both with their arms hanging loosely at their sides, both trying to understand what the other was thinking.

“I’m sorry for intruding. I’ll make sure to write you a good recommendation letter. Whoever you work with next will be lucky to have you.” With that, he strode off.

Lucy stared at the papers on the table, fighting off the urge to follow him. This was for the best. This is what she wanted… wasn’t it?

Dread knotted itself in Lucy’s stomach as she approached the Mystery Room. The commissioner’s office was right around the corner. She would hand in her paperwork and that would be it. She paused at the door of the Mystery Room. Al was inside, hands folded beneath his chin as he squinted at a pair of photographs. She knocked at the door.

Alfendi’s head snapped up, but his expression weakened when he spotted the paperwork in her hand. “Do you need me to sign something?”

“Actually, I forgot my jacket ‘ere. When I was…”

“When I locked you in the closet, yes. It’s on the chair over there.”

His eyes stayed on her as she made her way over to the chair. She glanced over at the closet and saw that it had been completely fixed, the wood smoothly varnished and the closet door neatly removed. No chance of getting locked inside now.

“I guess I’ll be goin’, then.” She tried to sound chipper, delivering Alfendi her best smile, but she was met with nothing.

As she turned on her heel to leave, the chair squeaked and Alfendi flew at her, taking two long strides before wrapping her in his arms, pulling her tight to his chest.

With her heart pounding in her throat, Lucy tilted her face up to Alfendi, still ensnared in his grasp. He lifted one hand to fix her cap, letting it drift down to caress her cheek. With a wobbling smile, he choked out, “Don’t leave. The Mystery Room needs you. _I _need you.”

Lucy let the papers fall to the floor. “Oh, Prof. I know you do,” she managed, before pulling down his face to meet her own. His stubble was scratchy against her face, contrasting the softness of his lips as they kissed. His hand wandered down and she felt them loosely wrap around her throat, his other hand dancing across her exposed skin at the hem of her shirt, sending ricochets of electricity over her body. He kissed the soft of her neck as he squeezed gently, leaving Lucy’s knees weak. “Potty…”

He jolted, then pulled back, a grin on his lips. “Can you _not _call me Potty when I’m kissing you?”

“What? You don’t find’t thought of’t bog particularly sexy?”

He laughed, the first time in weeks. Smiling, he tilting her chin up to him. “Let’s try that again, shall we?”

But before they could get any further, a gruff cough made Lucy jump out of her skin. Alfendi turned to the interlocuter, readjusting his white coat.

“Miss Baker? Does this mean you’ll be staying with the Mystery Room?” Commissioner Barton looked between the two of them, the hint of a mischievous smile twitching his moustache.

Alfendi eyed her expectantly. Lucy bent down to tidy up the strewn papers, knowing they were both watching her. She handed them to Alfendi. “You’re giving them to me?”

“As a reminder.” She nodded to the commissioner, who smiled at them both.

“I’m glad to hear you’ll be staying with us, Miss Baker. You know, the rate in which crimes have been solved has gone down significantly since you joined. The two of you are beginning to get quite the reputation. Perhaps some field work would be beneficial, if Alfendi feels comfortable?”

They both nodded and bid the commissioner adieu.

“Well then… I’d better get goin’. In a bit, Prof!”

“Hold on a minute,” Alfendi snarled, slamming the door closed and locking it. “I’m not finished with you yet.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her over to the desk, pressing her up against it. He stood like this, panting, and examining her carefully, until Lucy started to squirm.

“What are you doing?”

“Imagining all the things I’m going to do to you, my dear Lucy.” He took both of her wrists and pinned her to the table, his lean limbs displaying more strength than Lucy had dreamt off.

“Stop imagining and start _doin’_, Prof,” she begged, letting out a soft moan when he returned his lips to her collarbone, exploring her neck at a tantalizing pace. “My answer,” she breathed, “is Alfendi.”

He stared at her quizzically.

“I fell for Placid. But I fell for Potty, too. No matter what you say, or ‘ow you act… There’s something about what makes you _you_. And that’s what I fell for.” She cupped his face in her hand, gazing at him tenderly. “Maybe I don’t trust you yet. But we can work on that.”

He smiled, leaning his face into her hand. “Lucy Baker, since the moment we met, you’ve never failed to impress me. Or make me smile. You’ve never seen Potty when you’re not around. But I can assure you that he’s a far better person when you are. I’ll do my best to treat you right.”

“Good,” Lucy said, wrapping her legs around him and pulling his hands under her shirt. “Now, where were we?”

**Author's Note:**

> When I wrote the blood tasting thing all I could think of was Connor and most of all, Hank’s hilarious reaction. God I love that game. Also: some sites and people claim what Alfendi has is DID. I don’t think it’s a good idea to compare a fictional device to real life diagnoses, especially since Alfendi’s personalities don’t make sense when considering IRL DID. I treated it very much as a fictional device and nothing more.


End file.
